“Many poets are not poets for the same reason that many religious men are not saints: they never succeed in being themselves. They never get around to being the particular poet or the particular monk they are intended to be by God. They never become the man or the artist who is called for by all the circumstances of their individual lives.
“They waste their years in vain efforts to be some other poet, some other saint. For many absurd reasons, they are convinced that they are obliged to become somebody else who died two hundred years ago and who lived in circumstances utterly alien to their own.
“They wear out their minds and their bodies in a hopeless endeavor to have somebody’s else’s experiences or write somebody else’s poems or possess somebody else’s spirituality.
“There can be an intense eogism in following everybody else. People are in a hurry to magnify themselves by imitating what is popular — and too lazy to think of anything better.
“Hurry ruins saints as well as artists.”